


I Repaint Myself When You're Not There

by chewysugar



Series: You Are The Diamonds [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Sam Winchester, Desk Sex, Drabble, Implied Sexual Content, Inspired by Music, M/M, Marina and the Diamonds, Morning After, Shame, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 13:39:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16138391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewysugar/pseuds/chewysugar
Summary: Sam goes through the motions of pretending like everything is normal.





	I Repaint Myself When You're Not There

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics from the song "Solitaire."

Everything in the bedroom is evidence. The sheets are the primary source, stained with sweat and semen, and smelling of both. On the computer desk, a pencil holder and books are strewn like the remnants of some village desecrated by a nuclear bomb. Scratch marks line the arms of the leather chair in one corner, it’s stuffing spilled out like golden guts. Were any kind of forensic specialist to arrive, they’d be safer wearing a hazmat suit than not, and would likely assume some crazy shit had gone down.

And they would be absolutely correct. The real evidence, however, is on the body of the man now standing under the hot jets of a spacious shower.

Sam Winchester stares as soap and water swirl down the drain, along with the remains of the previous night. Theatrics dictate that he ought to be crying at the moment, but he won't, for two very good reasons: one, he's a grown ass man. And two, he’d have to be insane to shed tears over what had transpired between himself and Lucifer.

The times they spend together are always nothing short of cosmic. Lucifer took him every where and in every way possible: on the floor, over the desk, on the bed. Sam had, of course, repaid him in turn with a worshipful mouth and an eager, yielding body. It hurt, yes, but there were far worse pains to experience, most of which Sam had known.

But morning always brought an end to it—to the touch and the taste and the scent. Lucifer always left at light's first break, and Sam was left alone to clean up, both figuratively and literally.

He washes the stains from his body. Tender skin smarts beneath his fingers. What the soap and the hot water can’t remove his clothes will hide. And what his clothes can’t hide, he will. He’ll never show anyone but his dark prince just what a needful, aching little whore he truly is underneath the intelligence and the courage.

Hot water goes cold. Sam grimaces. It’s time to face the day. Time to dress, which he does. Time to make the bed and make himself presentable. If anyone sees the stains he’ll just say it was himself and his fist. He rearranges the desk, trying his utmost to not remember how it felt to be rammed over its smooth surface.

The only difficulty that remains is the chair. But Sam is confident that he can find an explanation for that too.

Knocks rain on the door. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty! You awake in there? I was thinking about doing a Dunkin' run if you want some grub.”

Old life. Real life. His brother, and his brother’s angel. But Lucifer will be back. Sam only has to play the part for a short while. Then he can morph back into what he truly wants to be—a plaything. Lucifer’s own personal fuckpiece.

“Sounds good,” he calls. “Be right there.”

Well, a version of him, anyway. 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!


End file.
